


I Found the Cure to Growing Older

by Helena_Hathaway



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anal Sex, Birthday Sex, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Frerard, Halloween, Humor, I'm not saying that in a sarcastic way I mean it actually sucks, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut, This fic is literally awful please don't read it, Top!Gerard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 10:45:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2544686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helena_Hathaway/pseuds/Helena_Hathaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank recalls meeting Gerard for the first time six years ago on Halloween. Basically just smut and fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Found the Cure to Growing Older

One of the things Frank admires about the commercial aspect of Halloween is that there’s very few ways to swing it other than the obvious. You can’t get away with saying it’s about ‘family coming together’ the same way you can with other holidays. There’s no gross dead bird in the middle of the table, and there’s no heavily sugared down movies about the closeness that the day brings. 

No, Halloween’s not like that. Halloween is about creepiness and wiccans. It’s about having Tim Burton movie marathons and feeling no shame, or watching horror movies with your friends and eating from a bag of fun size variety bags. There’s no one trying to pretend Halloween is different from what it actually is. It’s about messing around one night of the year, dressing like an idiot, eating your own weight in candy, and not giving a fuck about what other people think.

For Frank, it’s more special. For one thing, it’s the one time of year where people don’t look at him funny for covering himself in blood. Fake blood, of course. Maybe. Probably. Yeah, it’s fake blood. Unfortunately. For another it brings along the existential crisis that he’s one year closer to dying, but that usually happens over the first few days of November, because on the 31st there’s still a lull in his brain about it. On the day of his birthday he can pretend it’s just another holiday, but it’s the days following where he has to grieve that he’s getting old. What can he say though, it’s the curse of aging?

By far the best thing about Halloween to Frank is the memory he has from six years ago. That was, by far, the best Halloween that the world has ever seen. Mainly because that was the anniversary of Frank meeting Gerard.

Frank was having an existential crisis a tad bit early that year, and he was perfectly content to lock himself away in his apartment and not come out for the rest of time. That was the plan at least, until Pete was all like ‘nah man you’ve got to go to this sick party at my friend Mikey’s house’ to which Frank had replied with something like ‘Pete, I’m dying, nothing in life matters.’ That conversation was followed by Pete tugging Frank out of the door against his will and throwing a pair of devil horns at him. It wasn’t a very inspired costume.

Frank had allowed himself to be dragged to that party though, screaming at anyone who would listen that he was being kidnapped by the guy in what might as well have been a furry costume. No one seemed to believe him.

“I don’t want to be here,” Frank complained.

“Come on Frank, it’s your birthday! Have a little spirit.”

“Spirit as in alcohol, or spirit as in dead person?”

Pete sighed, “Neither. Spirit as in stop looking like you just got your foot chopped off.”

Frank just groaned and walked into the apartment to pretend he was mad at Pete, but in doing so he lost the only person he knew at the party. This then thrust him into having to awkwardly wander through groups of strangers to find him. Frank roamed around for a while looking for someone he knew, because Pete was too busy sticking his tongue down the throat of the guy hosting the party, and Frank was too busy being melancholic.

“Pete!” Frank complained, tugging on his sleeve. Pete looked at Frank like he was plotting his murder, because apparently interrupting a guy while he’s making out with, what Frank had decided was a human toothpick, is apparently not okay.

“What do you want, Frank?” Pete asked.

“I want to leave!”

“Then leave,” Pete told him.

“Ugh, I hate you,” Frank said. “Have fun sucking face with your stormtrooper. Aren't you a little short for a stormtrooper?”

“You’re friends are weird,” the stormtrooper said to Pete.

“Nah it’s just Frank,” Pete had said, “it’s his birthday and he’s been really depressed about how old he’s getting.”

“Your birthday is Halloween?”

“Yes,” Frank said.

“Cool,” the guy replied.

“Who are you anyway?” Frank asked the stormtrooper.

“This is Mikey,” Pete said, “I told you that! This is his apartment.”

“Oh,” Frank responded, “your house smells like laundry.”

With that, Frank walked away to find his way out of the apartment. There were too many people. Too many girls dressed in slutty versions of costumes that would’ve look just fine without the slut factor. Too many men dressed as Johnny Depp, and too many costumes that were less inspired than Frank’s. All Frank was wearing was a headband with little horns on it, so there was a lot of really boring costumes. That Mikey guy knew a lot of people. Frank was usually a people person but he just wanted to be by himself with some legos right about then.

Frank had almost made it out, he was so close, but that was when some jackass decided to spill diet coke down his pants. Frank groaned loudly and turned to see who he had to chew out for not looking where they were going.

“Whoa, shit, I’m so sorry dude!” the person said and Frank turned around to look at a guy who was definitively the most attractive person in the apartment. Frank looked at him, a guy who was about three inches taller than him, with messy black hair, and a really dorky Wolverine costume. Frank’s first instinct to get angry at the guy had dispersed when he saw him.

“No, it’s not that big a deal,” Frank said, smiling at the guy standing before him, “I never liked these pants anyway.”

“I’m so sorry though,” he’d said, “Jeez, can I-”

“No, really, it’s fine,” Frank insisted.

“Oh god, I feel bad. I, uh, fuck! This is literally the worst way to make a first impression,” the guy said.

“Well they could’ve been nicer pants,” Frank said, “or you could’ve murdered me with an ax. Those would probably be worse first impressions.”

“True,” the guy had said, “and given how many Jason’s I’ve seen, that ax thing isn’t as unlikely as you’d think.”

“So cliché,” Frank replied, “no inspiration goes into putting on a hockey mask.”

“Says the guy with the devil horns and the Sex Pistols shirt.”

“I’m not in a good mood today,” Frank admitted, “I didn’t bother with a costume.”

“What? Why not? Halloween is the best holiday!” the guy had said looking at Frank the same way everyone else that day had looked at him, like he was insane.

“Normally I would agree, but I feel my youth wasting away with every breath I take.”

“That’s rather gloomy.”

“It’s my birthday,” Frank shrugged, “I’m officially another year older.”

“You fucking with me?” the guy asked, “Halloween is your birthday? Dude, that’s fantastic. I’d give anything to have been born on Halloween!”

Frank had just sighed and nodded, because, yeah, Halloween is a great birthday, but he’s also going to die a year sooner than he was going to yesterday.

“What’s your name, by the way? I’m Gerard.”

“Frank.”

“Frank,” Gerard repeated, “I like that. You look like a Frank.”

“You look like a Logan,” Frank joked.

“Nice. X-Men joke,” Gerard said, “I like you.”

“Well that’s nice,” Frank said, “I like getting the approval of strangers who spill coke down my leg.”

“Oh god, sorry again!” Gerard said and Frank had rolled his eyes.

That was six years ago. Six years ago, today.

“Gerard!” Frank calls into the apartment.

“Yeah?”

“We have to go!” Frank says back and peeks into their room to see Gerard looking dorky as usual in the same Wolverine costume that he wore all those years ago.

“Wow, so you are one attractive nerd,” Frank says.

“Thank you,” Gerard says, smiling back at him, “you’re not so bad yourself.”

“So Dracula is sexy nowadays?”

“Pale is sexy. You’re almost as pale as me!”

“No Gerard,” Frank shakes his head, “I’m not nearly as pale as you. Gerard, I could be covered from head to toe in mayonnaise and still not be as pale as you.”

“Rude,” Gerard says, putting his hand on his hip. Frank giggles and walks over to him, putting his arms around Gerard’s shoulders.

“So... six years,” Frank says.

“Um, I thought you were a little older than that,” Gerard says, “I mean, you’re immature, but you’ve got to be at least eight.”

“I have put up with your bad jokes for six years,” Frank states, shaking his head, “and it hasn’t gotten tiring yet.”

“You need to get out more,” Gerard says.

“Yeah well, that’s what I’ve been trying to do for the past five minutes but you are such a diva! You’re taking too long.”

“Well then let’s go!” Gerard says, not moving any, because it’s more fun to stand in the middle of their room with his forehead pressed against Frank’s, than it is to actually go anywhere.

Gerard leans in closer to Frank until the space between them closes. Dracula doesn’t often make a habit of making out with grouchy superheroes, but he’ll make an exception for one as attractive as Gerard.

“You know you don’t have to wear that costume every year, right?” Frank asks Gerard.

“Yeah, but I met _you_ wearing this, so I assume it must be lucky,” Gerard says with a grin.

“Oh I can guarantee it’s lucky if you want.”

“Yeah?” Gerard asks with a grin, and his eyebrows raised suggestively. 

“Definitely,” Frank says, but Gerard steps closer and Frank’s aware that he just walked himself into some sort of trap, “but we’re going to be late.”

“Yeah,” Gerard says nonchalantly.

“No, we’re going to be late. Gerard!” Frank complains, “We’re going to be late!”

“So?”

“Well, I...” Frank was going to come up with a reason for why he didn’t want to be late but that was before Gerard started kissing his neck. Frank may be Dracula, but Gerard can bite his neck any day.

“Geraaaaaaaaard,” Frank says, dragging the name out.

“We’re already going to be late. What’s the harm in being a little more late? Late is late either way.”

“What’re you-” Frank starts abut Gerard’s point gets across when he unbuttons his way down Frank’s shirt.

“Gerard! We’re gonna be really late!” Frank says.

“Do you want me to stop?” Gerard asks, looking up at him with those light brown eyes that make Frank feel like melting into the ground.

“I fucking hate you.”

“That’s not an answer,” Gerard says, making a face.

“Yes it is,” Frank replies, “I fucking hate you.”

Gerard sticks his bottom lip out and bats his eyelashes out at Frank which is probably illegal in several countries.

“What is Mikey going to think?” Frank asks, when Gerard starts to pull his shirt off even further, and then the shirt and cape fall to the ground. Frank would usually say something about the fact that he doesn’t want to get undressed right after he just got dressed, but Gerard has a good way of convincing him of doing a lot of things. 

“Mikey won’t care,” Gerard says, “besides, Mikey and Pete are probably _busy_ too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then we can be a little late,” Frank nods.

Six years ago, Frank had been late at that party as well, but he didn’t _get_ there late, he _left_ late. He hadn’t intended to help clean up or anything because he’d never met Mikey before that night, and he had no intention of cleaning a stranger’s apartment, but he got stuck in conversation with Gerard. Conversation among other things. He hadn’t meant to, it just sort of happened.

“You don’t need to keep apologizing for spilling the damn coke, Gerard!” Frank had said.

“But, ugh, god, can I make it up to you?”

“You’re being too polite. Careful or someone’s going to walk all over you.”

“Oh, like who?” Gerard asked, “You?”

“No,” Frank shook his head, “I’m not going to walk over you. I like Wolverine.”

“Good taste in superheroes,” Gerard grinned.

“Why? Which superhero would make me have bad taste if I liked them?”

“Superman,” Gerard said, making a face, “Superman’s boring.”

“He is,” Frank nodded, “but Wolverine, he’s cool. I’m assuming that you have good taste in superheroes then?”

“Oh absolutely,” Gerard said, “I mean it’s my taste, so obviously I agree with it.”

“Valid point,” Frank nodded.

“So, Frank, I’ve never met you before, which makes me wonder who you know here,” Gerard said.

“Uh, well my friend is sucking face with the host,” Frank said.

“Ah, that would be my brother. So your friend is sucking face with my brother,” Gerard replied, and rolled his eyes. “Do I need to worry about your friend?”

“Who? Pete? Hell no. No, he might steal your pizza, and he’s a massive idiot, but he’s harmless. Then again he is the one who dragged me out here, and I kind of wanted to stay in all day, but it could’ve been worse.”

“You’re right. I could’ve spilled coffee on you.”

“That would’ve been worse,” Frank nodded, “so then do I need to worry about your brother then? I’m assuming not, because I trust most people dressed as stormtroopers, but it’s better to be sure.”

“You trust stormtroopers?” Gerard asked, “Frank, I have some bad news for you, but in the movie, the stormtroopers were the bad guys.”

Frank snorted and smiled at Gerard. At that point he forgot completely about leaving, because Gerard was attractive, and he was a dork, and he needed to talk more with the attractive dork.

Frank looks at Gerard again, remembering how cut he’d been when they met. He was no different than he is now, but he was such a breath of fresh air to Frank. 

“I always have good luck in this costume,” Gerard says, looking down at Frank and pushing him further into the room to the point where Frank almost falls. The backs of his knees nudge against their bed and Frank grabs onto Gerard’s shoulders to catch himself.

“You’re going to make me fall,” Frank says.

“That’s not such a bad thing,” Gerard replies, and then he really does let Frank fall, by giving him a little push.

“We’re going to be really late,” Frank says, shaking his head as Gerard crawls on top of him, placing his legs on either side of Frank’s.

“Boohoo,” Gerard laughs, “where would you rather be?”

“I’m going to have to redo my makeup,” Frank shakes his head, when Gerard starts to nip at his neck again, but he moves a little further this time. It’s not like Frank was really all that stunned with his own makeup job, just a little fake blood around the mouth and some white face paint, but Gerard has successfully made him sweat some of it off of his forehead. Gerard has a way of doing that. He just ruins everything. In a good way.

“It’s a good thing your costume is not complex,” Gerard says, “like last year. What made you think you could get away with dressing up as Alice Cooper?”

“Those pants were fucking tight,” Frank shakes his head, remembering it. 

“Better than those devil horns. That was just a depressing as fuck costume,” Gerard says laughing.

“It was,” Frank nods, “I was having a bad day, okay? I felt old.”

“If you were old back then, then you’re really fucking old today.”

Frank remembers how hard that birthday had been. Mostly because he was on the bad side of twenty five and he wasn’t getting anywhere closer to finding himself a love interest. Enter Gerard. That was a good birthday. That was a _really_ good birthday. It’s not every day you fall in love with a guy dressed as Wolverine. 

“You know, given the fact that you’re supposed to be Wolverine, I must say, your sideburns are extremely unimpressive,” Frank had said. 

“I am a man child,” Gerard replied somberly, “sadly, I am incapable of growing facial hair at the time being. Check back with me in another thirty years. Maybe by then I’ll have made some progress. Though knowing me I’ll probably just grow a unibrow.”

Frank laughed, “Yeah, I think sideburns might be a little much for you any way.”

“How would I look with a big long beard? Like Gandalf. Maybe I’ll be Gandalf someday.”

“Gandalf, sure... but you know who plays Gandalf? Ian McKellen. You could be Magneto instead.”

“Or I could just be Ian McKellen. Who’s cooler than him?” Gerard exasperated.

“Valid point,” Frank replied.

The Gerard of the present, the one who’s got almost his full body weight on Frank looks down at him and smirks.

“What makes this birthday different?”

“Well this time I have you,” Frank says, “and I don’t feel as old when I’m with you.”

“Isn’t that sweet,” Gerard says sardonically, but he’s got this big grin on his face telling Frank that he actually does think that.

“Yep,” Frank nods, “now take your pants off.”

“These are like fucking spandex, Frank!” Gerard says, and rests his weight on an elbow while his other hand busies with trying to take the damn clingy pants off.

“I know, you’re junk is practically on display.”

“You didn’t seem to be complaining.” 

“Why on earth would I complain about that?” Frank asks.

“Pervert,” Gerard mutters.

“Love you too.”

Gerard scrunches his nose in that cute way he does when he’s trying to suppress a laugh, and leans down to kiss Frank again.

“Doesn’t feel like it’s been six years,” Gerard says, shaking his head, “you haven’t aged any since then.”

“Well, actually, I’ve aged six years. Six years exactly.”

“Ha ha. You’re annoying.”

“If that’s going to be your attitude, then maybe we should get going,” Frank threatens, and that sends Gerard into a quick silence.

“Too much talking,” Gerard murmurs quickly, before pulling Frank’s pants down for him, because he’s getting eager. Gerard is able to talk himself into a boner which is a talent that is not shared by Frank. He’s only halfway there at this point, even despite the fact that Gerard’s put his knee between Frank’s legs. Usually, Frank doesn’t need more than a few carefully chosen words from Gerard though.

Gerard and Frank talk way too much which can have disastrous consequences when one of them wants to say something while the other is running their mouth. Usually though, the only person who’s capable of getting Frank to shut up is the same person who’s capable of getting him to blabber on and on about something. Gerard. It’s always Gerard.

Frank didn’t want to talk to anyone at that party after a while. He was focused on Gerard, and Gerard alone. He’d blocked out the entire world other than him.

“Frank?” Pete called out for him, but at that moment in time, Frank was in the middle of not talking. He was rather enjoying not talking. He was making out with Wolverine. It was a boyhood dream come true.

“Ew,” Pete’s voice got closer, “Mikey! You’re brother is kissing my friend!”

“Why’s he doing that?”

“I don’t fucking know, he’s _your_ brother.”

“He’s _your_ friend,” Mikey yelled back. 

Frank decided to ignore them. The party was drawing to a close and the crowd grew thin as everyone started to make their way home. Frank was going to leave several hours ago, but hell if he was going to stop now. Gerard was a good kisser. He was a very good kisser. He also had these really strong hands, and they were holding the sides of Frank’s face. All Frank could think about were those hands, and that tongue, and how much he was going to thank Pete later for dragging him to this stupid party.

They only broke up from that kiss when Mikey, who’d walked into the room after Pete had shouted to him, threw a paper cup at Gerard’s head.

“What was that for?” Gerard asked.

“You guys are going to help clean. Your boy toy is gonna help too. If he didn’t want to play housecleaner, he shouldn’t have stayed so late making out with my brother.” 

“I am not a boy toy!”

“He is not a boy toy!” Gerard said after Frank had defended himself.

“Fine then. Not a boy toy, but I hope you’re good with a sponge.”

“That sounded vaguely sexual,” Pete said.

“Only to you, Pete,” Frank shook his head, “you fucking weirdo.”

“He is fucking a weirdo,” Gerard said matter-of-factly.

Back then, Gerard had been a good kisser, but nowadays, Gerard is a _really_ good kisser. He became really good at judging Frank’s interests and noticing what turned Frank on the most. Gerard has a superpower that has nothing to do with his costume. He can turn Frank on with a snap of his fingers.

This fact is proven by the way that Frank’s full attention is garnered with nothing more than a low growl stemming from Gerard’s throat. He has no idea how Gerard does these things. It’s kind of scary, in a really good way.

“Oh god,” Frank says when Gerard doesn’t even bother to draw anything out for dramatic effect. Gerard is down to business and ready to fucking go, judging by how quick the work he makes of Frank’s boxers is. No teasing, just a quick tug and Gerard fisting his hand around Frank’s cock which is what causes him to let out a startlingly embarrassing noise that sounds like the mix between a goose and a chair scraping against tiled floor.

Gerard grins, and looks down at Frank who’s turned a slightly pink color from that sound he just made. He only looks slightly pink because the makeup is covering most of it up, but without it, it would look like Frank had dressed up as the Red Skull rather than a ferocious vampire. When you think about it really, there isn’t anything the slightest bit ferocious about a guy wearing a white shirt and a cape. 

Frank’s aware that his hands are plastered to the bed by his own uncertainty, but he lifts his hands up with shaking fingers and goes for Gerard’s underwear. He’d almost forgotten just how thin that costume was, because he’d forgotten about the fact that Gerard can’t even wear any underwear in that thing without showing them off to the world. So there’s nothing covering Gerard up when Frank’s hand makes its way down there, and Frank’s trying to figure out how he hadn’t noticed that before. Oddly enough, Gerard’s face usually distracts from his body which is weird because he’s got a nice face, but he’s got a nice body too. He’s got some love handles, but Frank’s always really liked them.

“Frank,” Gerard says softly into his jaw when Frank strokes a few times at his hard-on.

Frank doesn’t respond because he doesn’t trust his own mouth to say real words right now. He just sort of looks up at Gerard and watches the way that his face is so perfectly in tune to every flick of Frank’s wrist.

“God,” Gerard mumbles, “no, we’re going to fucking do this right.”

Gerard pushes off of Frank for a moment and reaches around on the bedside table for a minute until he comes back with a small bottle. Frank’s just looking up at Gerard, taking the sight in carefully.

He’ll never underappreciate the sight of Gerard. Not a moment goes by where he isn’t blown away by the fact that such a person can exist. Even more astounding is the fact that such a person exists who allows other people the honor of getting to look at him. For six years Frank’s had to pinch himself just to remember that, yeah, that’s his husband. That’s Gerard, the guy who is way out of his league and way too talented for his own good, and he’s all Frank’s. No one else gets to be with Gerard the way he does which is humbling to say the least.

Frank bites his lip and wraps one of his legs around Gerard’s torso to bring them closer together. Gerard still has his awkwardly elastic pants around his ankles and it’d look kind of weird if Frank gave a fuck, which he does not. Frank got rid of everything as the opportunity presented itself, so he’s completely bare underneath Gerard who’s shirt is still on, though it’s rucked up far up his stomach.

“You’re kinda cute,” Gerard says airily, looking down at Frank as he opens up the bottle with one hand.

“Only kinda?”

“Well you’d look cuter with little devil horns,” Gerard replies. Frank laughs, but it quickly turns into a hiss and then a moan as Gerard takes one of his fingers and prods Frank’s entrance with it. Frank’s face turns deadly serious as he looks up at Gerard, and Gerard looks back with a mix of awe and reverence.

“Good?”

“Not enough,” Frank answers hastily. Frank’s eager, and he knows that. He doesn’t like waiting, he never has. Gerard is overly precautious and doesn’t listen to Frank’s hasty whimpering for more until he’s sure that he won’t hurt him.

To be honest, Frank would think that after six years, Gerard would get a little more impatient, as Frank is known to have grown, but he hasn’t. It’s not that Frank likes fucking to be quick, it’s just that he doesn’t like foreplay as much. He’s not one to turn his nose up at it, but when it comes down to it, he’d rather Gerard just get to it rather than make him wait.

When Gerard does feel confident enough that he’s not going to hurt Frank, he does pull his fingers back, and grabs the bottle of lube again before he does anything else.

Frank watches his face, which is intent and serious, and he just waits until finally, Gerard presses his chest down closer to Frank’s and aligns himself with Frank’s hole. 

“Okay?”

“Duh,” Frank says, but not in a mean way. He’s just being Frank, and Frank is sarcastic whenever he can be.

Gerard doesn’t say anything more before he’s pushing in. There’s always that moment just as Gerard enters Frank that Frank feels like his body is going to explode, and it’s in that moment that Gerard has to suppress moaning because every single time he thinks that he remembers the feel of Frank, he’s wrong. Every single time the warmth and the pleasure of it all catches him off guard. It makes his breathing catch in his throat and he has to remind himself that he’s got to give Frank a little room to breathe first. If he doesn’t, Gerard will end up hurting him, and that’s the last thing he’d ever want to do.

Still though, this time is not different than any other time. Gerard psyched himself into thinking his body remembered the feeling, but he ended up being dead wrong in the _best_ possible way.

Frank looks up at Gerard, who’s looking down at him so that they’re staring right into each other’s eyes. Frank’s chest rises and falls to meet Gerard’s for a few moments before he gives a small nod, giving Gerard the permission he needs to takeover.

It’s not that Gerard is overly dominant, but he does like being in control of the situation, so when Frank nods to him he takes that as his approval. Gerard doesn’t start out fast, not with the small wrinkle between Frank’s eyebrows suggesting that there’s still some amount of pain, but he does slowly sort out a rhythm.

Frank grabs onto the back of Gerard’s neck and he doesn’t let go of that spot, as the feeling of Gerard inside him starts to settle around his whole body. Frank’s leg around Gerard tightens up a bit so that Gerard can’t escape, and he closes his eyes delicately to just let his other senses take over.

He hears Gerard’s breathing, slow and hollow like he’s trying to stay quiet. Frank can hear the sound of his own breathing, shaky and uneven. He can smell Gerard, the way he smells like no one but Gerard. There’s no way to describe the smell of him, like something out of this world, but pleasant nonetheless.

“Oh,” Frank almost claws his fingers into the nape of Gerard’s neck when he brushes against that one spot. Gerard doesn’t ignore that response though and a second later Frank’s eyes are pressing closed even tighter, and he’s finding it hard to keep his brain in control of his own vocal chords. They’re doing their own thing now and he can’t stop himself from moaning out almost every time that Gerard pushes back into him.

With every sound Frank makes, Gerard tells himself to pick up the speed a little bit, and he doesn’t need to hold himself back nearly as much anymore. Frank’s not going to complain obviously.

“God,” Frank gasps, melting into the feeling of Gerard’s body perfectly conforming to his own. Every part of them that touches feels like an electric shock and it goes straight to his cock. He’s practically whimpering underneath Gerard.

Frank knows that he can’t last much longer. Not with the way that Gerard is breathing into his ear and muttering Frank’s name under his breath like that. Not with the way that Gerard is hitting his prostate almost every single time he slams into him. 

The drag of Gerard’s cock is almost as good as the feel of Gerard hitting that golden spot with such precision. Everything about it is making Frank’s breathing hard to the point that he no longer cares for air at all. The only thing he cares about is Gerard, and the sweat sticking them together.

“Can’t,” Gerard starts to say, but he’s too lost in the feeling to finish. Frank understands what he means though, because he can’t hold on much longer either.

It’s over so fast, but it also feels like centuries. They seem to lose it together, because the last thing Frank knows is the feeling of Gerard releasing inside of him, and all Gerard knows is the feeling of Frank clenching around him.

Gerard’s skin prickles like he’s gotten really cold all of a sudden, while Frank just sort of falls out of any real form of human consciousness for a second. He hears static in his ears as everything sort of collapses, like he’s been vacuum packed by the sky, but it fades to something like being struck by lightning soon after.

It takes him a moment of gasping and spluttering and trying to figure out how his lungs work, to realize that Gerard’s nose is interlocked with his. Frank doesn’t recall telling himself to do so, but he’s aware of his head lifting itself up the height it needs to attach his lips to Gerard’s.

It’s an open mouthed kiss, lazy and soft, but it does the trick to bring Frank back to reality. It’s with a faint lull around his body like no other kind of high in the world.

Gerard rolls off of him after a minute and Frank looks over at him, smiling lightly, waiting for him to show any sign of alertness. Frank’s forgotten what was going on before that orgasm, like his whole brain was wiped clean by it. He looks down and remembers some of the details of his life, but only a few. Frank grumbles something incoherently as he sees his own cum on his stomach and he makes a face.

Gerard looks up at the ceiling with bright eyes that are practically smiling, and he pulls himself up into a sitting position. Gerard’s back is turned to Frank and he looks at his pale shoulder bones for a while until Gerard virtually jumps to his feet like a little kid.

“Come on Frank,” Gerard says, hopping up and fixing his pants, “We’ve gotta get going.”

“How are you so fucking limber?” Frank questions, “I really am getting old.”

Gerard rolls his eyes at Frank and shakes his head, “Yeah, _you’re_ the one getting old. Jesus fucking Christ, you complain too much.”

Frank laughs breathily, and frowns at the fact that he is tired and he doesn’t really want to get up, but Gerard’s already fixing himself so Frank had better do the same. They are going to be really late though. Mikey will live, and his Halloween party is not as important as the way Frank feels about Gerard. 

“Don’t worry though,” Frank says, pulling himself up and evaluating his messy attire that looks like he really was just being fucked. “I know someone who can make me feel young.”

“Yeah?” Gerard asks.

“Yep.”

Frank will never ever forget that Halloween of six years ago. Not a single second of it. When Frank had had the unfortunate task to walk away from Gerard for the night, because cleaning a guy’s apartment only takes so long, he’d started to feel that sinking feeling that he was getting old wash over him again. Frank remembers standing outside Mikey’s apartment, and how he’d looked at Gerard carefully, taking him in so that he wouldn’t forget how gorgeous Wolverine was when he went to bed that night. He didn’t actually go to bed very quickly that night, but that’s not the point. He just remembers looking evaluating Gerard and feeling himself get younger just by gawking at him.

“You know, I started out today feeling really shitty about my age,” Frank said.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Gerard said.

“But I think that maybe my age isn’t so bad,” Frank said, “or at least, right now I don’t feel so old.”

“Really?”

Frank nodded, “Really. I don’t feel that old right now, Gerard. I think maybe you have something to do with that.”

“Yeah?” Gerard grinned at Frank like he’d just announced that Gerard had won a million dollars.

“Yeah,” Frank said.

“Well, maybe I’ll see you again and we can try to make you forget how old you are.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Frank replied. “And maybe I can do the same for you.”

“Well Wolverine doesn’t age does he?” Gerard said, “But I feel a hell of a lot younger than I did yesterday.”

“And why do you think that is?” Frank inquired.

“I think it’s because of you.”

Six years later, Frank can confirm that statement. Gerard makes him feel young. With Gerard, he has a cure for aging. All he needs is a dork in a Wolverine costume.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! Happy Frank's birthday! Comments are much appreciated.


End file.
